


Temporary Fix

by winterpillowtalk



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - No One Direction, Angst, Broken Bones, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pining, doctor!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-31 21:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterpillowtalk/pseuds/winterpillowtalk
Summary: Harry as a doctor? You bet is he. Welcome to the best Doctor!Harry on this hellsite





	Temporary Fix

If he could have avoided it, he would have. To him, it was completely unnecessary. Given the right equipment and enough time to look it up on WikiHow, he was certain he could have fixed it himself, but no, of course not. His ever-aware friend called an ambulance the moment he saw his bone sticking out in a not-so-usual angle.

“You cannot make yourself a cast with papier-mâché and felt-tip,” Zayn had said, trying not to gag as he looked down at his friend’s arm. “Why you would even think that would work?”

Louis shrugged. He wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling he had watched a five-minute craft video where they did something similar. That seemed to work, and it was only five minutes! He could deal with losing that much time of his life, but the thought of waiting for an ambulance, travelling to the hospital and then waiting for god knows how long in A&E made him want to sink into the floor and never return. Besides, before his unfortunate fall, he was trying his best to secure CCTV facing the fridge. Now, he wasn’t naming names, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Zayn was going down in the middle of the night to eat the expensive chocolate cake he bought himself once a week as a special weekend dessert. 

“Fine, don’t talk to me,” Zayn huffed as he sat down in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. It was obvious that he wanted Louis to join him — mainly because the other man was physically pointing at the empty chair and then at Louis. Taking the clear hint, Louis sat down, crossing his arms and ignoring how much pain shot through his body at the mistake.

The room was nothing incredible, nor were the people occupying it. He wished it was an early Saturday morning. He wanted to see drama; people punching one another, screaming after their significant others that they definitely did not sleep with Becky from down the street, no matter what whichever friend has told her. Louis sighed. Why did he have to break his arm on a Tuesday afternoon? The only people there for his slight entertainment were a mother and her coughing child (gross), some old man gazing at a newspaper and a teenage girl who looked as if she was about to burst into tears at any second (relatable). 

Louis picked at his fingernails. “How long are we going to be here? I need to get home to finish my… project,” he hesitated, not particularly wanting to tell his friend what he was up to halfway up a ladder at ten in the morning.

Luckily, before his friend could question his morning endeavours, the receptionist politely called his name.

“If I’m longer than an hour, call the police for me?” Louis joked as he walked through the double doors. However, he knew Zayn would immediately get the FBI on his case if he wasn’t heard from within the hour. Louis sighed again, it would be kind of funny to see some sort of army man storming the hospital because there was a delay. Maybe it would make his stay ever so slightly shorter? He wasn’t too sure.

***

He was asked to sit in a small office - probably a GP or whatever. He didn’t understand hospitals nor did he care to learn about them. At least the room he was now forced to inhabit was a little more interesting than the one Zayn was now alone in. The walls were covered in detailed diagrams of toes and the arch of someone’s foot. Louis was scared. He might have been directed to the foot fetish area by mistake. It didn’t look right. Where was the replica human skeleton hanging in the corner? The posters of various plant organisms? He stopped mid-thought, shaking his head. Of course, he was thinking about his Year 10 Biology lab. He was an idiot. Having niche diagrams and stuff plastered all over the wall was probably something very, very normal for a medical professional. Perhaps he was the weird one making it got down such a creepy train of thought. Louis made a mental note to tell Zayn about that when they were reunited.

Leaning back against the chair, he allowed himself to zone out - mainly because the pain was coming back and they hadn’t given him anything to stop it. He was in an awful hospital; he was going to give it one star on TripAdvisor when he had the chance.

Either he had fallen asleep or he had somehow managed to invent time travel because the next thing he saw was a man wearing a white coat entering the room. Louis watched as the stranger walked around the desk to sit in the chair opposite him.

“Ah,” the man said, shuffling some random papers he had taken out from a cabinet. “Mr. Hoffman. Has the weeping wound reopened on your foot?”

“N- my what?!” Louis screamed. “I’m not that person. I’m Louis Tomlinson and I’ve probably broken my arm,” he explained, trying not to throw up at the idea of weeping wounds. He had seen them multiple times on Embarrassing Bodies. The thought of having one for himself made him want to take a long walk on a short pier.

The doctor was silent, shuffling his papers for the second time — Louis was sure he wasn’t actually reading them. “Hm. Well, that makes sense. You didn’t look like Mr. Hoffman, but I didn’t want to assume. You never know what science is capable of these days, y’know?”

Before Louis could express his dismay at the doctor’s clear lack of professionalism, the phone on his desk rung. 

“Hello?” the doctor answered, tapping a pen against the desk. Louis was going to lose his mind if he didn’t escape that hellhole any time soon. “Tomlinson? Oh! I have him with me now. Why is he in my office and where is Mr. Hoffman?” There was a pause, but Louis could hear the high-pitched yells of an angry woman down the other end of the line. “Fine, bring in Dr. Styles here. I don’t care anymore! You know what? I quit! This hospital doesn’t deserve me. I’m going to go somewhere where they appreciate my talent. Payno is gone! You’ll never hear from me again!”

And, with that, the doctor slammed the phone down and Naruto ran out of the room.

“Is this real life?” Louis muttered to himself. “I must have knocked myself out when I fell; this isn’t real life.”

“Before you start to sing Bohemian Rhapsody, unfortunately, it is real life.” The new voice shocked Louis so much that he almost fell out of his chair. “You’re in the hospital, and for some reason, you made it to the podiatrist office. No idea how that happened.”

“But-“ Louis started, wanting to complain to someone about everything that had happened to him. He wanted to go home and lie down; he was missing his favourite weekend afternoon television as well. Unacceptable!

“Come with me,” Dr. Styles said, pointing out of the office into the main hallway again. “We’re going to go for a walk to where we can examine you properly, and probably give you some pain medication. I have no idea how you’re not on the floor crying right now. I’ve only broken my arm once when my friend Niall thought it was a good idea to drop a rock onto it. Anyways, that’s a whole ‘nother story.” The doctor laughed. Louis could see tears welling up in the man’s hazel seeing orbs which was… unusual. No one had ever prepared him for a situation where his newly appointed doctor got emotional reminiscing about the time his friend broke his arm with a heavy object. 

“Are you…okay?” Louis asked, guessing it was better to bring it up now before any more awkward silences could pass.

Dr. Style nodded, trying to hide a fond smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just remembering Niall. He had to move back home a couple of months ago. I still miss him a little.”

“Oh,” Louis said, quietly. “Did he move far or something?” 

The doctor chuckled. “You could say that.”

Louis, confused as always, didn’t question him any further — mainly because he didn’t care or want to sit through this man pining for his friend. “Where do I need to go?” he asked, moving the conversation onto something more pressing: his ruined arm. 

“Follow me,” Dr. Styles said, marching down the corridor.

***

Louis was sat upon a plastic sheet that stuck against his legs even though he was wearing jeans. He added it to his list of Why Hospitals Suck for later reference. He was watching the doctor walk around the small room, picking up various objects that Louis would have no chance of identifying. It looked like the man had collected a random assortment of mental items, and seemed pleased that he was able to find them all.

“We need to do some routine checks,” the doctor said, getting a syringe from a packet. “Nothing to worry about; it’s all normal stuff here.” He pushed Louis’ t-shirt sleeve up, exposing his upper arm. “I’m going to take some blood. It shouldn’t hurt, but I wouldn’t recommend looking. Sometimes people faint.”

Louis scoffed. He had seen his arm sticking out in the wrong direction; he could definitely manage a single needle.

***

“You fainted,” Dr. Styles said, shaking his head. “And you fell onto your broken arm. I didn’t even get it in a sling for you. You just… dropped. One of the nurses thought you had died when she walked past the room. I told you notto look; that wasn’t an invitation for you to challenge me.”

Louis groaned, rubbing his eyes with his usable hand. “Did you get any results back from the lab or whatever you needed to do with my blood? You’re not going to sell my DNA to the government, right? This isn’t a cloning facility?”

“Of course not,” the doctor said, pretending to be offended. “Selling DNA only happens when the sample is healthly.”

“And mine’s not?” Louis asked, feeling his heart-rate increase. 

The doctor cleared his throat, not looking Louis in the eye. “I didn’t know how to break this to you, but you have aplastic anaemia…”

Aplastic anaemia? Louis had no idea what that could be, but from the look on Dr. Styles’ face, it seemed to be serious. He couldn’t process it; too much was happening all at once. Could it be fatal? How long did he have left? Did he have time to get his finances in order? Tell his friends and family that he loved them? At that moment, he decided to apologise to Zayn; he could have as much of his fancy cake as he wanted. Life was too short to be wasted over petty high sugar foods. 

Before Louis’ life could fully flash before his eyes (he only managed to relive his very disappointing fourteenth birthday party. It wasn’t his fault that the parrot they hired decided to take a strong dislike to one of the girl’s hair on that day — it was her fault for making it resemble a nest), another voice called from the doorway. 

“Harry,” the new voice came. “Stop telling everyone they have aplastic anaemia. It’s not funny!”

“Shut up, Simon. It’s funny to me,” the doctor shouted back, clearly trying not to laugh at Louis’ crisis.

Louis heard Simon heave a heavy sigh at his colleague's medical antics. It must have been a common occurrence that the other doctor was able to call Harry out on it.

“So… let me get this clear,” Louis said, speaking slowly. “I don’t have a plastic anaemia?”

“Aplastic,” the doctor corrected for some reason (both of the pronunciations sounded the same to Louis’ untrained ears). “But you don’t. I like to tell that to everyone I see; gives me a good laugh to see their reactions as they try and work out what’s wrong with them.”

“How haven’t you been fired yet? Surely someone would tell your superiors that you’re wrongly diagnosing them just for your entertainment?”

Harry shrugged. Louis guessed that the man must’ve been like gold dust to this hospital; there was no way anyone else would have been allowed to do something so unprofessional so often. Or maybe they were keeping here because of his incredible hair… Louis wasn’t 100% sure, but he had his suspicions. 

“Okay,” Harry said, snapping Louis out of his semi-daydream. “Let’s get your arm fixed.”

***

He was sat on some random chair in another cold room, waiting for whatever his doctor had planned for him after his x-ray. He’d never broken an arm before, so he had no idea what was coming next. For all he cared, they could give him a splint and send him on his way, but he presumed there’d be a more intensive procedure than something he could’ve done in five minutes.

Still, he wished he could’ve done his DIY cast in his living room… Louis might have roped in the help of Zayn if he needed. He was certain that they could’ve worked out something together. Plus, he had some sick scented felt-tips which would have made this experience much more exciting — and smelling like fake orange instead of That Hospital Oder.

“Alright,” Dr. Styles said, coming back into the room with some pictures of Louis’ smashed arm. “I think we need a specialist for this. The breaks are too complex even for me to mend properly. I’ve given him a ring, and he should be here in any second. Just sit tight and don’t move.”

Before Louis could question the serious tone of the doctor’s ‘don’t move’ a loud crash came above him. He just had enough time to lean back, avoiding most of the debris landing directly on top of his head. 

Dust and asbestos flew everywhere, making Louis cough violently. As it settled, he was faced with a new man standing in front of him.

“Oi oi!” the new man said, pushing his hair out of his face. “I’m Niall, and I’m here to put your arm back together.”

Louis was stunned, unsure if he was joking or not. He had just come from the ceiling, covered in dust and then announced that he was another doctor? Nothing made sense anymore; this whole day felt like an acid trip or fever dream. He hated every second of it thus far. Perhaps he would wake up soon, at the bottom of a stepladder with Zayn peering down upon him, laughing at his agony. 

“Can I see some qualifications?” Louis asked, hoping that the man would show him some kind of ID to make his nerves calm down. 

“No,” Niall said, not missing a beat. When Louis laughed, guessing he was joking, Niall looked at him with a bored expression before turning to face one of the many cabinets in the room. “Stop laughing. We need to get your arm unbroken quickly. Unlike you, I have somewhere to be.” 

Louis was just about to argue, saying that he wasn’t going to let anyone without any form of qualification go anywhere near him with a knife or whatever they used in surgery. However, before he could say anything, Niall had turned around, brandishing a syringe. 

“Stay still,” Niall said, walking towards him. “I need to inject this into your big toe.” 

“You are not!” Louis screamed, jumping up from the chair. “I swear to God, if you even try to get that near me, I’ll call…” he paused. “The CIA! I’ll call the CIA, Niall! Don’t test me!”

“The CIA won’t do anything,” Niall replied, seemingly unbothered.

“What do you mean? They’d have to do something. How can you ignore a call about something like this? They’d have to be some form of investigation at least!”

“The CIA won’t do anything because we’re in England.”

As Niall spoke, he lunged forwards, stabbing Louis in the arm with the needle.

Louis could feel himself falling, almost in slow-motion. As the ground approached his kneecaps, all he could think was that one [clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmd1qMN5Yo0) he saw on Twitter a few months ago. If he could, he would’ve laughed and sung ‘Mmh whatcha say’. But, alas, he could not. 

***

Waking up was weird. Firstly because he didn’t expect to actually be alive after whatever Niall did to him, and secondly because the room he regained consciousness it was pitch black.

“Hewwo?” Louis called out, hoping that no one heard his attempt at speaking. He didn’t count on anyone replying, but to his horror, another voice came from the dark.

“Oh, good! You’re awake.”

It was Harry. Louis inwardly groaned, not wanting to see that man ever again. He tried to roll over, away from the direction of the doctor’s voice. If he didn’t face him, maybe Harry would leave so they wouldn’t have to exist in each other’s space ever again.

However, as he turned onto his side, he felt something weird. It was where his broken arm was meant to be, but what he could feel pressed against his side definitely wasn’t the arm he was used to. 

Louis sat up, fear flooding his veins. Even in the dark, he could see something was wrong. There was a small red light flashing on his ‘arm’. He didn’t like that at all — arms _shouldn’t_ have red lights on them.

He tried flexing his fingers, but even that didn’t feel right. Had Niall cut off his arm and replaced it? He wasn’t sure and didn’t know if he wanted to see the end result.

“Let me put the light on,” Harry spoke again, flicking the main light on. “I need to examine your arm. Niall had to leave in a rush, so I said I’d take over the aftercare parts. He said it wasn’t too hard. As long as I remember to get you to sign something that there’ll be no legal complications.” 

“Legal-? What?” Louis stuttered. Although he knew what happened to him was against the law, he liked to live in blissful ignorance as he told himself that it was just an unusual procedure, not something which could involve the police and expensive lawyers.

Dr. Styles hushed him, asking if Louis could close his eyes. When Louis’ refused, the doctor half-joked that he would knock him out again. Louis quickly shut his eyes tightly as the doctor started to poke at his arm. He tried to block out when a very metal sounding ping filled the room. Louis told himself that it was from something the doctor was carrying — maybe a stethoscope? — and certainly not from his arm. 

A few more minutes of aimless poking and prodding continued, with Harry making avoid humming noises. Louis didn’t know what use any of this was, but he could tell that questioning any more of the events that had happened would only make him go insane.

“Okay,” Harry said. “You can open your eyes now. I need you to sign this bit of paper. Don’t read any of it; it’s not important. All I need off you is a signature and a date. Then you’re free to go.”

Louis was handed a pen and a bit of paper. He tried to scan down the page, but when Harry noticed, he covered it with his hands. "Don't," was all Harry said, sounding more serious that Louis had ever heard him.

Every fiber in his body was telling Louis to get up and run. He needed to call the police, and then The Sun (he wanted the money and frontpage cover story). But when he looked towards the only exit he could see, Harry was only a few meters from it. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do.

Louis quickly signed the paper, hoping nothing bad would come of it. He threw it in Harry's direction. "There," he sighed. "Can I go now? Please? My friend's still waiting for me."

Harry laughed. "Zayn's fine. He's been talking to Dr. Payne since you left his office."

Oh, that was nice. At least Zayn was having a good time as he was going through some form of torture yet known by man. 

His doctor picked up his form and gestured towards the door. Without saying anything else, Louis got up and made his way towards the exit, trying his very best not to look as if he was running. He had perfected the speed walk to make it seem as if he was going at his usual pace (school had taught this to him so well. He was rarely grateful for that skill he had mastered, but it was a day of firsts today). 

***

Louis walked around the corner and into the waiting room. As told, Zayn was talking to Dr. Payne. He paused, just out of sight. He wanted to know what they were talking about. From appearance alone, they looked like two people who wouldn't be caught dead together.

"Repeat after me," Dr. Payne said. "[I have the power of God and anime on my side](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tlwda9S58Lg)!"

As instructed, Zayn repeated with much more force than was entirely necessary. 

Louis had to put a stop to this. He saw people staring at the pair of them, whispering between each other as more and more people began to realise one of the people worked for the hospital. So, doing what he did best, Louis made himself visible and broke up the conversation.

"I want to go home," he announced, sounding like a petulant toddler. 

"Louis!" Zayn said, happily. "You're back sooner than I thought. I was just talking to Liam. He's nice." Zayn nodded to the other doctor. "Have you met him before?"

"I have," Louis replied, giving the doctor a weak smile. His friend didn't need to know how they'd come into contact before. "How long was I gone?"

Zayn took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the time. "About twenty minutes? I didn't know it took so little time to get you all patched up. I love technology!" Both he and Liam laughed at some inside joke which Louis wasn't in on.

"I have to go as well, Zayn," Dr. Payne said. "I have another appointment in ten minutes. I'll text you my address so we can meet up and watch Vine compilation at mine sometime next week."

Zayn smiled and watched as the man Naruto ran through the door. Why was he so weird? Louis had no idea, but at least Zayn seemed alright with him. He hoped that going over to his house wouldn't result in his friend's untimely demise, but at that stage in the day Louis had given up caring for anything by the comfort of his bed.

***

Louis had never been so glad to see his grey sofa. He flopped down face first the moment he was close enough to it. "Today has been a long day," he said, his voice muffled by the cushions. 

"Let's see your arm, then. Do you have a cast? I want to write  _Backstreet Boys_ lyrics all over it before anyone gets the chance."

He rolled onto his back and rolled up his sleeve, he was met with some kind of metal extremity. "Oh," he whispered, unsure what to make of what he was currently looking at.

"Aw," Zayn said, sadly. "There's not enough space to write all the lyrics I wanted to on there. I'll have to narrow it down."

"You're... you're not concerned that my arm is made of _metal_? I look like I'm getting ready for the 2016 Met Gala."

Zayn shook his head. "I think it's cool. You look like a robot or something like that." He laughed to himself. Louis didn't find it funny. He was dreading the next time he had to go through security at an airport. "It's like... like a mega-arm or something!" Zayn said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Louis didn't fight against it. He rested his newly named mega-arm on his chest, gazing up at the ceiling. Maybe he could learn to live with his arm. If anything, it would be an interesting icebreaker at parties and a good story to tell his grandchildren. 


End file.
